


The Uruk-Hai

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Remembrance [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rape, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by UluithielProtecting the one you love can be terrible
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took
Series: Remembrance [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922128
Kudos: 8
Collections: Least Expected





	The Uruk-Hai

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: It all started with JRRT; PJ continued it, and I just humbly write about it  
> Story Notes: This one is for every survivor with younger siblings: 'They took the little ones!'

Minas Tirith  
April 27, 1419 (in the Shire reckoning)

> " 'But these evils can be amended, so strong and gay a spirit is in him. His grief he will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, it will teach him wisdom.' "  
>  _The Return of the King_ , p 145

"Frodo, can I talk to you?"

Frodo turned with a smile, but Merry's pleasant face wore a look of unaccustomed gravity. Frodo pulled him to the stone seat on the tower and put an arm about him, though Merry was now significantly taller than he. But the young Brandybuck was clearly in need of some comfort. "You know I'm always ready for a talk, Merry. There really are nothing like hobbits for a good talk."

But Merry's pleasant face was drawn with anxiety. He sat heavily on the parapet, looking down at a space between his toes. Frodo felt a thrill of alarm. "What is it, Merry? Is something wrong with Pippin?"

At last the old smile returned, and Merry's eyes cleared. "Nay, cousin, the young Took is carefree as ever. No, it's me."

Frodo didn't speak. He settled himself on the stone bench.

Sam, never far away, approached them, then stopped as he saw their faces. "Begging your pardons, I'll be leaving you. . ."

"No, Sam, it's all right," said Merry. "I need to talk to Frodo, and I want you to hear it as well. Won't you stay? or. . . could we go inside?" he added, looking a bit uneasily at the open courtyard nearby.

"Certainly. Come on to our rooms, cousin Brandybuck. They don't serve tea in Minas Tirith, but Sam and I have a private hoard, and we'll put the kettle on," said Frodo soothingly.

Sam bustled about the sumptuous suite of rooms, putting out seedcake and apples, and settling the kettle on a hook he had contrived in the massive fireplace. Merry took one of the apples; last years' it was, a bit wrinkled, but still sound and sweet. As he bit it and the good juice filled his mouth, answering tears filled his eyes.

Frodo and Sam looked at him with concern, but without alarm. Tears were only too common in these early days after the Great War. Joy was occasion for tears, and the tears of joy flowed easily; but for those doomed to have an integral part to play in the War of the Ring, tears still flowed for the grief and horror. Both Ringbearers sensed that Merry's tears were not happy ones. Frodo made himself as comfortable as possible in a carven chair far too large for a hobbit. Sam glanced at a matching chair nearby, rejected it as too big and too far away from Frodo, and settled himself on the floor at Frodo's feet. From this vantage he could scramble unobtrusively to the fireplace when the kettle came to its boil.

Merry sat in a chair opposite, and Frodo was amazed again at how tall his kinsman had become. The chair was almost of a size for Merry; his legs dangled a mere inch off the floor.

With a deep breath, Merry began. "The other night, Frodo, in Ithilien, you were saying how Gandalf had got you to talking about things that happened to you." Merry's eyes were on the fire so he didn't see Frodo stiffen. Sam laid a warm comforting hand on his master's knee, and Frodo relaxed fractionally as he smiled down on his Sam. Both were beginning to guess what might be coming.

"Well, I talked with Gandalf last night, and he helped me some, but he said I should talk with you about this," said Merry, and he hazarded a glance at Frodo.

Meriadoc was still not inured to the sight of his cousin. Frodo had never been as stout as was usual for a hobbit, but now he was frankly thin. His high cheekbones were too prominent, his luminous blue eyes sunk too deep under the ridges of his thick brows. Merry's eyes fell, taking in the looseness of clothing over the narrow frame, and fell upon the right hand resting on Sam's head. Usually Frodo contrived to hide his maimed hand in some manner, but now it was exposed, lying on his companion's sandy curls. Merry's breath caught in a sob. "Oh, Frodo, I don't want to add to your trouble! You've been through too much," he wailed. "But Gandalf told me it would help you to hear my story, so. . ."

Frodo's brow creased. "Help me?" he said. "Help me what?" Sam glanced up at him, but Frodo seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Help you come to terms with the things that happened to you," said Merry. Frodo went rigid, but Merry didn't notice. "Gandalf told me about. . . well, he didn't tell me any details, but he told me the Orcs . . . tortured you, when they had you up there in that tower."

"Cirith Ungol," murmured Frodo, his voice hollow. Sam darted a glance of concern, but Frodo's eyes were still his own. Often lately, a chance word or snag of memory would capture Frodo and compel him back into the Shadow that had held sway over his soul for so long. But Frodo did not need rescue, not yet. The blue eyes came up, and there was a spark of anger in them. "What did Gandalf tell you, and by what right did he betray my confidence?" he asked sharply.

Merry looked up in surprise. Frodo's years as _the_ Mr. Baggins of Bag End had given him presence, but since his Quest he seemed to have adopted an authority that could, at times, be peremptory. Now, seeing the austere lines of the once-familiar face, Merry was reminded that the Frodo who grew up in Brandy Hall was no more. This hobbit was the Ringbearer, and his mien had, at times, an air of regal aloofness that he was sure Frodo was totally unaware of. His greatness was unconscious, and the greater for it.

"Why, nothing specific, Frodo," he said, determined not to be intimidated by this remarkable being who was still his cousin. "He just told me that . . ." Merry's voice dropped, and he focused on the hands twisting in his lap, "that you had been. . . tortured. . . too."

The last word was so low that Frodo would not have caught it had he not been expecting it. His eyes were immediately alert, his voice gentle. "Yes, Merry," he replied steadily. "When I was captured in Cirith Ungol" -- Sam stirred, and Frodo stroked his cheek -- "the Orcs tortured me. They weren't trying to learn anything. The task of extracting information would have taken place in Barad-Dur." Frodo's voice was still steady. "But it is the manner of the Orc to love suffering, and they tormented me purely for their own amusement." The last word caught in his throat, and Merry looked up.

"Amusement," he breathed. "So you _do_ know." Frodo looked at him, startled. "Orcs are cruel by nature," said Merry slowly, "but some tortures are more horrible than others."

Merry leapt to his feet and began to pace the room, his uniform cloak billowing. Both Frodo and Sam realized that he did not want to look at them during his confession, but they kept watchful eyes on the tense figure.

"They took us from Amon Hen," began Merry -- Frodo stirred, and Sam pressed a kiss on his knee -- "and I suppose I was knocked on the head, for the next thing I remember was waking to a nightmare. My hands were tied, and strung through my arms was an Orc's head. He was hideous, and his claws dug into my arms, and my jaw was rubbed raw against his hairy jowl, and my legs ached from dangling as he ran with me. We ran and we ran. Forever, it seems, though it couldn't have been more than a day or so. Even Orcs must stop sometime for their foul food; and for. . . amusement.

"I couldn't see Pippin!" Merry cried in anguish. I didn't know where he was! I kept craning my neck, looking for him, but all I saw was Orcs. Orcs all around me.

"We finally made a camp of sorts, and Ugluk -- he was the leader of the Orthanc band of Orcs -- smeared something on my head." Merry's hand unconsciously traced the scar on his forehead. "It burned horribly, but I suppose it didn't do me any lasting harm. They didn't want me dead, they wanted me alive and in good condition for interrogation.

"They had orders not to kill hobbits, I suppose. By that time Saruman, not to mention Sauron, would have known that a hobbit had the Ring, and I suppose that Ugluk and Grisnakh -- he was the leader of the Orc band from Mordor -- thought they had captured a rare prize. Or Grishnakh thought so anyway. I don't think Ugluk ever really knew what his master was after, but Grishnakh knew. He knew."

Merry's voice trailed off. He was standing in front of the fire, staring unseeingly into the flames. His body was tense as a bow, and his voice was ragged with strain.

"At the second camp I finally saw Pippin. Yes, that's when Ugluk 'tended' my wound -- I get confused about the days," he said plaintively, and Frodo hummed encouragement. "But it was then, the second stop, on the cliff near the waterfall, that I saw Pippin. My heart almost burst from my chest in relief, for he was alright -- battered and bruised, but alright. Ugluk wouldn't let us talk, of course, but seeing him alive was all I needed."

Tears had begun to stream down Merry's face, but his voice remained steady. "After that, when Pippin and I were conscious again, they made us run. They wouldn't let Pippin and I run together, but if I glanced in just the right direction at just the right angle I could see him. It kept me alive and on my feet.

"I almost died of fright when Pippin made his break. One moment he was there, running with the Orcs, and the next he was away, running across the ground." Merry whirled and faced them, his eyes desolate. "I know now that he was only trying to leave some prints for Strider to follow, and drop his brooch as a token, but for a moment I thought. . ." his voice trailed off, and when it resumed it was hollow, "I thought he was escaping. Leaving. Leaving me alone with the Orcs."

Sam's breath caught raggedly in his throat, and Merry glanced at him. With a visible effort, Sam spoke. "I did that, Master Merry. I left Mr. Frodo. I left him alone with the Orcs." His voice was tight but clear. "It don't matter that it was the right thing to do, looking back now in hindsight. It don't matter that I did it because I was mortal certain that he was dead." Even now Sam's voice did not falter. "What matters is I did it. I left him to the Orcs." Frodo's fingers -- only four -- played soothingly in Sam's sunlit curls, but he didn't interrupt. He was learning about the lancing of wounds, and this was Sam's demon to exorcise.

Merry stared. He knew Frodo had terrible memories, but it had not occurred to him that Sam had nightmares to cope with as well. The shame and self-reproach on Sam's honest face was consoling somehow, and with a deep breath, Merry continued.

"Pippin didn't get away, of course. They caught him right smartly, and Ugluk--" Merry's voice choked -- "Ugluk whipped him. But I . . . I was relieved. Relieved! I was _glad_ they caught him, because it meant I wouldn't be alone with the Orcs!"

Merry's voice was a low wail of shame, and he dropped his face in his hands. Frodo's eyes were soft with compassion. It was some moments before Merry was able to continue his story.

"We ran on. When Pippin or I would stumble or collapse, we'd be picked up and carried like a bag. I have no idea how far we ran. It was all an evil dream. It wasn't until morning that we stopped again. The Orcs were quarrelling among themselves. The Isengarders were the ones who had captured us, and their orders were to take us to Orthanc, but Grishnakh and his gang wanted to take us south, to Lugburz." Merry shuddered. "I'm not clear on what all happened, but Ugluk and his Isengard Orcs won the argument, and that put Grishnakh into a truly evil mood."

Here Merry's voice faltered, and he returned to his chair, settling himself into it carefully, as if he was unsure of how his limbs would work. His eyes were dark now, and distant.

Frodo shivered. Was this how _he_ looked when he made his visits back to the Land of Shadow within his heart? It was terrifying. The very air seemed darker, and Frodo could hear the snarl of Orc voices, mouthing their foul speech. He could see the bent, bowlegged shapes of Orc bodies. His vision began to recede and he recognized with despair that he was returning to his waking nightmare. But Sam, ever alert to his master's mood, grasped his hand -- the left one -- and kissed it. Abruptly Frodo returned to the castle room, and smiled faintly down at Sam, who relaxed but kept Frodo's hand in his, stroking it. Frodo was grateful for the anchoring contact.

Merry resumed painfully. "We stopped there for only a few moments I suppose. Even now I'm not sure how it happened, but I found myself down on the banks of the river, alone with Grisnakh. He was. . ." Merry swallowed. ". . . he wanted me alone. He wanted. . ."

Merry bit his lip, took a deep breath, and said steadily, "Grisnakh opened his breeches, grabbed me by the hair, and shoved my face against his groin. He wasn't hard; it was soft and horrible, but he forced me to suck on him." Merry looked squarely at his friends for the first time. "Do you know _how_ he forced me?" Frodo and Sam did not stir. "He told me that if I did it, if I sucked him well, then he would. . ." Merry's voice trailed to a whisper, "he would leave Pippin alone."

Tears returned to the burning eyes, and Merry finished the ugly story in a rush. "It went on forever, forever. He kept cuffing me and telling me to go faster, that Ugluk would catch us. Finally, finally, he came. . . and smeared it all over my face. 'There's a reminder for you, maggot,' he sneered. 'Just remember -- if you put one foot wrong your little friend will have a taste of me too!' His laugh was horrible.

"We went back to running -- or _they_ did. They carried Pippin and I slung on their backs. I suppose they felt the need for haste and were willing even to forgo the pleasure of seeing us stagger in exhaustion.

"It was nearing evening when I saw the Riders. They herded our band of Orcs like sheep, but didn't bring them to battle. At last we were surrounded, on the very eaves of Fangorn Forest. Ugluk ordered our legs to be bound -- and very tightly it was done, too -- but for the first time Pippin and I were close together. We were kicked when we tried to talk, but it was enough to be next to him. I wouldn't have wanted to talk just then anyway," Merry finished in a whisper.

"No," murmured Frodo. "Just having him near. . ." Sam laid his head on Frodo's knee, and Frodo stroked the brown cheek very softly. When Frodo spoke it was to Sam, not Merry.

"I didn't expect you to rescue me," and at Sam's indignant glare, Frodo smiled. "It never occurred to me that you were alive. I was unable to believe that _anyone_ was left alive in the world except for me, and the Orcs. And for hours and hours and hours, we _were_ the only ones alive. . ." Frodo's voice started to fade, but he caught himself back. "Then there was the song, Sam, and then Snaga's whip. . .and then _you_. You, Sam, holding me in your arms. I would have thought it was a dream, but by then I knew that all dreams were horrible."

Merry was looking at Frodo, and there was a special companionship in his gaze. "You _do_ know," he whispered. "You _do_ know," and he burst into tears. Frodo and Sam let him weep, and at length he spoke again.

"When night fell, the Horsemen were closing in, and the Orcs were quarrelling horribly among themselves. That's when Grishnakh saw his chance. He grabbed up Pippin and me under his arms like faggots of wood, and carried us away from the firelight. I thought. . . I thought he was going to . . ." Merry's voice faltered, "I couldn't have borne . . . . But all he wanted was the Ring." Merry's laugh was sudden, unexpected. " _All_ he wanted . . . but I was so relieved. Because maybe I _could_ keep my Pippin safe. Maybe, just maybe, Pippin would not have to do what I had. . ."

Merry swallowed, shook his head a little. "Well, then. Pippin caught on to Grishnakh's game before I did -- probably because he didn't know Grishnakh had other uses for hobbits -- and he was so clever! He taunted Grishnakh, and led him into believing we had the Ring, and then, just when I thought he was going to take us off and have us all to himself, the arrow came, and then the Rider speared Grishnakh." Merry turned to them fiercely. "I could have licked his blood with relish," he said in a low, savage voice. "But I was too filled with joy. Because now Pippin was safe."

At last Merry broke down utterly. Frodo rose and, taking Merry's hand, he pulled his distraught kinsman to the bed. Beckoning to Sam, he laid Merry down between them, his and Sam's bodies sheltering, warming, soothing Merry's stalwart frame, wracked now by sobs. For a long, long time the three hobbits lay in the sumptuous linen sheets, surrounded by every luxury in the King's House of Minas Tirith, walking their private paths of darkness and horror. At length Merry's sobs faded to gasping hiccups, then his breath slowed and evened out as he fell into exhausted sleep. Frodo and Sam drowsed as well.

When Frodo woke he saw Merry's eyes inches from his own, and the eyes were clear again, unshadowed by ghosts of memory. He smiled into the well-loved face and hugged his cousin. He felt Sam's arms from Merry's other side, and Merry gasped. "I'm quite alright now," he laughed. "There's no need to squeeze the breath from me!"

The three hobbits rose, and Sam set about brewing a fresh pot of tea. As they sipped it, Merry smiled at them gratefully. "It _does_ help," he said. "Talking, I mean. I didn't want to, but Gandalf insisted. And Gandalf kept saying that _you_ needed to hear my story, Frodo." Merry's eyes were grave with concern. "I haven't hurt you, have I? Hearing this hasn't made your own memories more. . ." He stopped, having no words, but Frodo smiled.

"No, cousin Brandybuck, you haven't hurt me. I think maybe it helps most to talk about these things with people who really understand." He laughed queerly. "It will be hard, you know, going home. No one back in the Shire will ever really understand."

"Nay, and they needn't," said Sam stoutly. "We've one another, and we understand each other just fine. Now, Mr. Merry," he continued, turning to Merry. Merry glared at him, and Sam grinned. "Alright, _Merry_. It's going to take a heap of explaining, just that," he mused. "Folks back home will think I'm getting above my station. But there it is. Those of us what has been there understand, and that's enough." His voice rang with conviction, but his glance at Frodo was troubled, sensing his master's disquietude.

Merry did not perceive it. His face was clear and youthful again. "Do you know," he said mischievously, "it has been very difficult for me to make love with Pippin since that happened. Was it like that for you too?" he inquired, but seeing their faces he laughed. "Seems it was, but you're working it out, eh? Well," and he pushed himself to his feet, "It's long after lights-out in the barracks, but I know a certain Knight of the City who may not yet be asleep. Or if he is," Merry continued, brightening more, "I think I'll just wake him up!"

Sam laughed, and Frodo smiled. "Give him our love," he called after Merry's eagerly retreating form.

Merry grinned over his shoulder. "I think _my_ love will be quite enough for tonight, but I'll get to yours," he said, and he was gone.

Frodo sat, eyes veiled, cradling his cooling cup of tea. The left hand, curling about the mug, idly stroked the gap on his right hand where the third finger had been. Sam recognized his mood -- dark, but not dangerous -- and puttered softly around the room, tidying the remnants of the barely-touched tea. Then he gently took the cup from Frodo and clasped both his hands. "Time for bed," he said.

the end


End file.
